The Weasley and Potter Adventures
by JokerAtWork
Summary: 17 years later...and we meet the next generation of troublemaking hogwarts goers. Here is a series of one-shots cataloguing snippets of their lives as they fumble through life's trials. Each min. 1000 words and varying POV's, don't forget to R&R
1. Albus the Sleuth Solves the Fudge Case

He shifted in his corner as he strained to listen, plucking at his collar and tucking his lapels further in to accentuate the look of complete neatness that he upheld. This was a major breakthrough in the area of his career, and he sure as hell couldn't risk buggering it up. The shadows of the two figures he was tailing stiffened, and their voices died down for a beat as they intently listened into the corners of the room which they occupied, some instinct causing a prickle in their awareness that caused them to feel as though they were being watched. But Albus Severus knew they would never know he was there, and so simply waited for their conversation to resume.

The suspects were responsible for the incarceration of his primary partner, and he had to figure out the reason for which they'd shut away Rose Hermione Weasley before he could go about setting her free. Tipping his broad fedora hat lower over his brow to shield his eyes, he peered directly at the figures of the two crims, then ducked back against the doorway behind which he hid, his trench coat brushing soundlessly against his trouser knees. The one on the left with crimson coloured hair spoke to the one on the right, whose strangely coarse locks grew out tightly from his scalp, contrasting with his more anglo features.

"Did you manage to grab the…" Albus only heard the first part of the hushed question, as the ginger lowered his voice further in caution. His dark companion nodded nervously, slipping his hand out of his pocket hastily to show whatever it was he'd stolen to the ginger, a flash of brown and foil being all Albus caught of the package before it was once again stowed out of sight. He felt his eyes narrow in contemplation.

"Yeah, but it wasn't easy…had to…she's locked…won't cause any more trouble…how she found out." The man with the dark curls kept his voice at a constant hiss, and it was only thanks to his numerous reconnaissance activities in the past that Albus was able to make out any of what was said. He felt his jaw tighten at the understanding he gained that the two had framed his partner for their crime, because clearly that's what they'd done. Now he only needed to watch and see where they stashed the goods, before he could take the story up to the big guns and have the real culprits put away, and his partner's dignity restored. He pulled up his collar around his face, just in case someone happened to glance at him and make out his face. He was rather well-known around these parts, his likeness to his famous father a clear heads up to all who so much as glanced at him. That was why he had to wear this musty get up, and act all suss-like.

The two criminals were coming closer now, whispering to each other in low tones, and Albus shrunk back against one of the slightly open doorways in the hall in which he stood, waiting for them to pass him before following after the pair at a distance to see where they went.

They ducked out of the building into the sunshine, the other occupants of the place never sparing them a look, for they too were well known around these parts, though not so much for their starry reputations. People were preparing for some big event, and Albus knew the criminals in front of him had stolen something crucial to the holding of the event, which was why his partner was so harshly punished after she was framed.

Albus ducked behind a bush and crouched as he watched the two traipse off towards a run-down structure in the distance, their route away from the building behind him unbroken and confident. Ignoring the eyes he felt boring into his back, Albus carefully watched until the two had checked that the coast was clear then ducked into the doorway of their destination, before he rushed as fast as he could to stand under the window at the back of the new building, desperately listening to the shuffles, then the distinct sound of a heavy lid squeaking open. His eyes widening, he listened with bated breath as s crinkling as of foil rung out, a thump as though something heavy was dropped into an enclosed space, then a squeaking followed by a slight snap that told him the lid had been shut on the thing they'd opened. Sniggers sounded out, the two crims congratulating each other on a crime well done. Well, not if Albus Severus had anything to say about it.

"Muuuuum! Mum! MUM! James and Fred stole something! MUM!" Albus let out his caterwauling yells as the two criminals rushed out at him, grabbing the blanket he'd been using as a coat, and pulling the pot he'd substituted as a fedora from his head in their efforts to silence him. But six year old Albus would not be silenced. Here was an injustice, and Rose was suffering.

"DAD! Albus was spying on us! Didn't do it, he's a liar!" his older brother James had slapped a hand over his mouth, and Fred was looking at the sibling's in panic. If he was found out, there would be no Christmas pudding for him later on.

All the Weasley and Potter adult's rushed out of the Burrow from where they'd been stringing up Christmas decorations, and baking Christmassy goodness, at the screaming and crying coming from the chicken shed. Albus was red-faced from lack of breath as James suffocated the sound from his throat, and Fred was nowhere to be seen. (He'd thought it prudent to act like he'd been playing with Molly and Louis in order to avoid the punishment likely to befall James, the mastermind of plan "Steal the Christmas Fudge and blame Rose the Sweet-tooth".)

"JAMES SIRIUS POTTER! YOU UNHAND YOUR BROTHER THIS INSTANT!" Molly Weasley's dulcet tones shook the very foundations of the Burrow, and drew a sullen Rose to the window of Ginny's old bedroom, where she'd been sent after getting blamed for eating the fudge. Her face lit into a smile as she saw the remnants of Albus' "crime solving" getup strewn in the yard and a James about to be cooked alive for his antics. Her Hero!

And so it was that Private Albus Severus saved his partner from an unfair imprisonment, and landed two deserving crims in the jail-house (attic) for their dastardly plans to ruin Christmas. He and Rose even got to eat the stolen fudge, because the adults never asked where the goods had been put.

**A/N Hello, dear readers. I hope you liked this initial chapter, and look forward to the next random spiel which I am liable to summon from the random depths of my mind. Any and all comments are welcome, so long as you keep the language of the comments in sync with the stories – this means conscientious bleeping of impolite words please.**

**Gosh, I sound like a stuffy prude, but hey! This is what's coming out of me 6 DAYS BEFORE HSC! I MUST BE CRAZY TO BE ON HERE! I do apologise, but I must now fly. Ciao and Arigatou! Auf Wiedersehen! Good Bye!**


	2. Lily's Chat with Santa

Lily's Chat with Santa

It was all in the ability to keep quiet. If Lily Luna Potter knew anything, it was that if mummy and daddy couldn't hear her, they would never know she was hiding behind the armchair in the sitting room of the Burrow, keeping her eye on the empty space beneath the Christmas tree in order to catch Santa at it.

Lily had a bone to pick with Santa Clause; after all, the gift that he gave to her parents on the Christmas she was born had, first off, come with the wrong parts, and secondly, gotten the wrong name. Lily was sure Santa had mixed her up and made her a girl, because no way was she going to have her hair braided one more time, or be subjected to the horror that was pink dresses for a fourth Christmas. If she could just talk to Santa, she was sure all of this would be put right, she'd be given her doodle, and would be allowed to bash James and Albus as much as she wanted, without her mother or father snatching her up as though she would break.

Stifling a yawn, Lily glanced expectantly at the fireplace, then at the mantelpiece, where a clock steadily shifted towards midnight. Then she eyed the milk and cookies she and her cousins and siblings had earlier set out. Some of Nana Molly's extra-large choc-chip wonders, plus the brownie biscuits Auntie Fleur always made. Her tummy grumbled, and she bit her lip. Well…since Santa had made the mistake of making her a girl, and he got cookies and milk in every house he visited, Lily surmised that he probably wouldn't miss this one plate of goodies…She inched out from behind the couch carefully, eyes trained on the door as though watching it would make her more aware if someone were about to come in. Carefully lifting the plate of cookies back to her corner, Lily then turned back for the milk.

Tall glass of milk. It looked a little precarious, resting on the table like that. Her hands felt awful small compared to that glass. What if she spilt it? Careful now, Lily, she whispered to herself. You don't want to make a mess.

Circling the cup with both hands, Lily shifted it down to her eye level, then took a measured gulp of the creamy whiteness, just to make sure that it wasn't so close to the brim. She kept it held out before her, as she judged each careful step, making sure nothing caught on her toes, or nudged her ankles to send her toppling. She finally found sanctuary behind the armchair again, the one that happened to be grandpa's favourite. Curling up in the blanket she'd snuck there when everyone was busy getting mad at James for doing something naughty, Lily cheerfully munched on her cookies, and sipped at her milk. Gradually, she nodded off.

It was four past midnight when Santa came through the chimney. Santa this year was Ron, as every year someone different had the impossible task of sneaking out of the Burrow to floo over from the Lovegood tower with the presents. The massive sack was so easy carry, especially because there were so many Weasley's that short of levitation and a shrinking charm, the bag of presents would never get under the tree. The flaring of the floo temporarily lit the sitting room a brilliant green, before once more easing to a warm glow. Ron was tiptoeing over to the tree, being as silent as…well, perhaps not all that silent. He swore as he managed to snub his toe on the edge of the fireplace coming out, and the bloody moustache on his suit was getting in his nose. Not to mention the suit had been made for a much shorter man than he.

Ron, preoccupied with his wedgie, almost didn't see a little head of flame dart out from behind his father's armchair to stand before him, blocking his way.

"What the-" Ron caught himself just before he swore, which would have disillusioned poor Lily to the miracle of Christmas forever more. Lily stood before him, hands on her hips, looking much like a mini Ginny.

_Knew we should've slipped sleeping potion in their dinner. _Ron thought in exasperation. What the hell was he meant to do now?

"Mr. Clause?" Lily's voice rang out in a sharp whisper. Ron looked down at her and proceeded to beam, putting down the bag of presents which had been under a levitating cham, placing his hands round his fake-pot-belly, and giving a rather good 'Ho! Ho! Ho!'

Lily looked horrified. "Shh! My parents will hear you. Don't you know no one's meant to see Santa?" Lily hissed at him, and Ron felt slightly abashed before realising this was his four year old niece, and wasn't she meant to be asleep?

Bending at the waist, Ron brought his eyes level with Lily's. Her eyes were turned up defiantly, and she had drawn her mouth into a firm line.

"Miss Lily Luna Potter, if I'm not mistaken…?" Ron began in a low deep voice, and Lily smiled in his acknowledging who she was.

"Little Lily, shouldn't you be asleep?" Ron picked her up, and she put her arms round his neck, as he walked over to his dad's armchair, and sat down with Lily on his lap. Lily nodded her head bashfully, and sniffled.

"What's the matter?" Ron asked in the same low voice. Lily sniffled again before saying, "Mr. Santa Clause, you gave my parents the wrong Christmas present." Ron looked at Lily in confusion, having no idea what she was on about, but decided to play along.

"Lily, Santa Clause only gives the present people want deep down inside. He never gives a present that people don't want."

Lily sniffled and shook her head. "Mr. Santa, you don't understand. I was meant to have a doodle, and you mixed me up!" Lily looked up at him with big, watery eyes, and Ron felt a jolt of incredulity. What?

"When you gave me to mummy and daddy four years ago on Christmas, you mixed up my parts. I'm supposed to be a boy, Santa. You made a mistake. Now you have to put it right." Lily now demanded, and Ron felt at a loss as to what he should do. Fumbling not to completely come across as a moron who wasn't Santa, Ron tried to keep up the nice, grandfatherly, patronising act.

"Now, Lily, why do you say that? Of course you were meant to be a girl, that's exactly what your parents wanted."

"Nuh-Uh! They just wanted a baby. I should have been a boy, because I hate pink frilly dresses, and because I'm a girl, I'm not 'lowed to fight with James and Albus. So, it's not fair Santa. You got to fix this."

Ron felt realisation dawn, but with it, uneasiness. It was not his role as uncle to have this talk with Lily. In fact, he was probably the worst person of all of them to be giving Lily this talk. If only Hermione were here, she always knew just what to say…what would Hermione say in this case?

"Lily, I know sometimes it might seem a bit hard, having to do things that you don't want to, like wearing dresses you don't like, or not being allowed to play with the boys. But…isn't it fun playing with dolls with Molly?" Lily tentatively nodded. Ron continued, "And if you were a boy, you couldn't play with dolls. Or how about when your mummy and you make teddies and bake, don't you like that?" Lily nodded again, and Ron nodded at her, "Well, if you were a boy, could you do those things?" Lily slowly shook her head.

"You see Lily, sometimes it might not seem fair that you are the way you are, and you might want to do things that only boys do. But boys can't do things girls can do, so…you win some, and you lose some, and it might not be the same as same, but…it's sort of equal, so it's fair right?" Ron voiced all of this slowly and carefully, watching Lily's face as she let it sink in. she slowly nodded, and Ron was relieved.

"So, now you know you weren't a mistake, should you go up to bed and let Santa do his work?" Lily smiled and hugged him, got up, began to walk to the door, but froze. She turned around, ran at him and kissed him on the bit of cheek that was showing. She giggled at him, and said behind her hands, "I ate some of your cookies and milk, Mr. Santa. They're behind Grandpa's chair. I hope you don't mind." Then she hurried out of the room and off to the Girls room where her cot was waiting for her. Ron shook his head as he retrieved the leftover cookies and milk, and thoughtfully bit into one of the brownie-biscuits. Well, better get those presents sorted, he thought, and began the tedious job of emptying the sack into a semblance of order under the Christmas tree.


	3. The Voices in Rose's Head

The Voices in Rose's Head

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the plot. All credit belongs to the creator of the Harry Potter World, Lady JKRowling, whose highness shall maintain the throne over this domain forever more to come.**

**Note – Rose isn't schizophrenic. She probably has Asperger's or a very active imagination, whichever rock's your boat.**

Rose Weasley had a sweet tooth. Her mother blamed her father, and her father blamed the cook; the cook blamed her parents, whom she thought were far too tolerant of Rose. Rose didn't blame anyone but the sweets, because it was _they _who called her to them. They and the voices in her head drove her to do all the many things she did, and there was only so much a little girl could take of instructions before she felt a compulsion to follow through with what she was told. And the voices in her head were nothing if not persistent.

Rose spent a lot of her time talking to the voices in her head. She didn't know that it was strange that she could hear things in her head, or that she was eerily advanced for her age in terms of knowledge. The two went hand in hand with one another, with each new area of experience upon which she came coming with a voice in her head who was an expert in that area. It was because of this that Rose could flip through a medical dictionary, and be able to diagnose the various people around her with the information she gained. The voices in her head catalogued what she learnt, and would speak to her of the people around her and the objects surrounding her, and try to get her to act in regards to these things. She informed her parents cook in her little no-nonsense voice that she ought to get the purple bruise-like thing on her lower legs checked out, because it was not a bruise as it had grown since the last-time Rose saw it, and was likely Lichen Planus; she did this not because she particularly cared, but because Prudent-Pru, one of the voices in her head, said that it would be best to, "nip the thing in the bud." And then Doctoring-Dickens went ahead and spewed a whole lot of medical nonsense for Rose to tell Cook. Cook ignored Rose, thinking her a presumptuous 5-year old, but Rose insisted that it would increase Cook's chance of having cancer if she didn't get it treated.

Exasperated, Cook took Rose and a drowsy Hugo with her to St. Mungos, where a healer inspected the purple formation, and immediately consulted with another healer in hushed tones. Cook was slightly worried, and gave a small jump when Rose spoke up from between the healers where she'd snuck unnoticed.

"No, it doesn't require operation. That is far too serious a treatment. What you should do is find out what triggered it, then apply a cold compress, then soak the affected skin in something with hydrocortisone." The healers looked down at Rose in slight annoyance, and more than a little marvel, but decided that she actually was right.

Now, back to the sweet-tooth that was the very root of many of Rose's most harrowing punishments. Rose was sitting at the kitchen table, her colouring book open in front of her, and a box of crayons resting between her and her brother Hugo. Hugo was colouring in a dinosaur, with all the expertise of a fumbling four-year old who was sure that all dinosaurs were brown and green. Rose wanted to tell him that no one knew the exact colour of a dinosaur, because they had been dead for a very long time, but held her tongue because Hugo might cry if he thought his picture was wrong. Rose herself was disdainfully colouring in what muggles _thought _were fairies, but which in actual fact were about as real as Barbie doll women. _Not real._

Rose was slightly distracted from adding a price-tag to the fairy – just to make it clear that it was not real – as Cook opened the oven door. Rose tensed as Munchy-Munch in her head growled that he smelled sweets. Manners-Morton shushed Munchy-Munch, and told him that dinner was in two hours, and now was not the time for snacking. Prudent-Pru agreed with Manners-Morton, and asked Rose to return to her colouring task, which Cook would much rather Rose continue with. Munchy-Munch growled and said if Rose didn't get a few sweets in, he would make Rose's tummy ache. Rose asked Prudent-Pru what she should do, as she didn't like tummy-aches, and no one ever believed her when she said Munchy-Munch was making it happen. Hero-Zac told Rose that he would stop Munchy-Munch, but Rose knew that Hero-Zac wasn't as strong as Munchy-Munch, because Munchy-Munch had the power of sweets on his side, and that was a lot of power. So Rose decided to get some sweets.

This was how Munchy-Munch frequently used the power he wielded in her mind to make her believe that it really was lack of sweets causing the ache, when in actuality, it was preliminary hunger pangs.

Distractedly continuing to colour the grass in as many shades of green – and some yellow – as she could find, Rose sent all the people in her head to the room of play-things, where Rose collected all the toys she had ever admired. She called Plotting-Plotter to the Map room, where they planned how to sneak some of the cookies that Cook had made so that Rose could eat them. Rose and Plotting-Plotter were great friends in her head, and he was a lot like Teddy in that he changed what he looked like so Rose could act out her plan in her head, just to make sure she had all the possibilities thought out. Though this may seem a tedious and time-consuming pursuit, in actuality, it took all of one minute. Much like dreams, Roses' discussions and antics in her head operated on a different wave of time – so what may seem to take half a day actually lasts five minutes.

Rose put the crayons in her hand on the table, and Cook came over to see if she was done. Cook was actually also a nanny and a maid, but Rose had always called her Cook, just as she'd always called Munchy-Munch his name, because that seemed to be their primary function. Father's primary function was fathering, so he was called Father. Mother's primary function was Mothering, although for a time it was nursing, and Rose had changed what she called Mother accordingly. Uncle Harry's main function was Pulling Hair, but Prudent-Pru told her it would be rude to say so, and to call him what everyone else called him.

Cook patted Rose on the head, and said it was very nicely done. Cook had long since stopped being surprised by Rose's advanced skills, and it no longer fazed her that Rose's colouring looked more like a Da Vinci than it did like a child's attempt at crayon murder. Hugo eagerly shoved his paper up to cook and gave a dimpled smile as he watched Cook praise him. Hugo's colouring was far more normal in terms of ability. The dinosaur had streaks of white where Hugo had missed while scribbling with his crayon, and there wasn't a line which hadn't been coloured out of. Rose knew all this, and also knew that Cook was lying as she said it was the best picture that she'd ever seen of a dinosaur, but Rose knew that this was called encouragement (because that's what Manners-Morton said it was), and she also knew that Hugo needed a lot of it, because she'd heard her mother and father talking (and Prudent-Pru had remembered a book that said something about encouragement being key to successful development). So Rose joined Cook in praising Hugo, and even told him that his dinosaur looked much more real than her fairy, especially because her fairy was all wrong. Hugo beamed, pleased that he'd done something better than his older sister. Then he held up his hands to Cook, widening his blue eyes innocently. Cook sighed, seized his grubby hands, and led him away to the bathroom to give him a clean.

Rose seized the moment.

Plotting-Plotter instructed her to quickly grab a napkin, into which she dropped five cookies, seized so that you couldn't tell any were missing. Cook had made more than thirty cookies, and Counting-Candy informed Rose that there had been 38 cookies. Rose then bundled the cookies in the napkin, ignoring Munchy-Munch (who was yelling at her to eat them now!) and slipped next to the kitchen door, placing the bundle beside the pot-plant which rested there. Rose then dashed back to the cookies, hearing Cook as she neared the kitchen again, and Rose seized a single cookie and took a bite, because Cook probably expected her to have stolen some, and would demand that Rose return them, so best to take the suspicion off.

When Cook entered the kitchen, the first thing she saw was the second cookie in Rose's hand. Then her eyes tracked to the first cookie, half-gone. Rose knew that since she had eaten a cookie, Hugo would have to be allowed one as well. Having a second cookie in her hand meant Cook would think she'd meant to sneak it away after she'd eaten her first. A smug smile crossed Cook's face – she'd caught the little genius red-handed.

Rose endured the telling off with her head hanging, and trudged out of the kitchen to her room for her punishment. She took her colouring book with her, and 'accidentally' dropped it as she exited the door. Bending over, Rose slipped the cookies in front of the colouring book so Cook wouldn't see them, and trudged up to her room using the colouring book to hide the cookies.

When the door was safely closed behind her, Rose let a gleeful grin sit on her face as she and Munchy-Munch enjoyed their spoils. Manners-Morton made sure that Rose didn't spill a crumb, while Prudent-Pru tutted and asked Rose how exactly did she think she would have enough room for dinner now? Mouthy-Mary stuck her tongue out at Prudent-Pru, and said that that was ages yet, Rose could have a little snack. Rose nodded, digging with relish into her third cookie.

Yes, Rose Weasley blamed the sweets – they were the reason Munchy-Munch made her steal them. When her mother knowingly asked her if she'd only had the two cookies, Rose could honestly say that yes, she did, because Munchy-Morton had taken over when the other five had been scarfed down. Her mother wasn't to know that Mouthy-Mary and Munchy-Munch were in her head, gagging a Prudent-Pru and Manners-Morton, holding the two hostage so that Rose could lie to her mum and save them all the horrors of _further punishment, _which varied from having to eat washed lettuce, to being made to stare at Blank Wall for an entire half-hour. It was just self-preservation! Plotting-Plotter was conferring in the meantime with mini-Rose in Rose's head – they were trying to determine the best way to get at the jelly which had been made for after dinner.

**A/N**

**So, I hope you enjoyed the newest addition to the series of one-shots that so far make up my creative liberties on . Unfortunately, I can't write anything more time-consuming, because of this little, tiny, eensy-weensy thing called…HSC DUN DUN DUNN…it's a month long examination process which I am currently in the midst of, and it ranks you out of the whole of Australia at the very end, so it is a rather big deal. **

**So, wish me luck, leave a review telling me how to improve! I need all the feedback I can get at this moment, you know! Thank you for having read what I have churned out of the Black-hole that is MY BRAIN. Toodles! **


	4. The War Between James and McGonagall

The War Between James and McGonagall

**DISCLAIMER – I own nothing but the plot, and a little of the strange made-up terms. The rest you can profusely thank Madam Rowling, Lady of Edinburgh and Duchess of Hogsmeade for. Enjoy!**

James was absolutely bonkers-and-a-bored to hell. He hated uncle Neville's dull-as-deer-droppings Herbology classes, he didn't really give a whiff of wacky-mole-Wednesday to be sitting here staring at some leafy green thing, or woody brown thing, and if he really wanted to sniff dirt, he'd drop dead in the forbidden forest.

"James, could you pass those earmuffs over here?" someone whispered at him, and James turned hooded eyes in the direction of Emily Fickelheart, who was the one to call at him. He raised an eyebrow in expectation. His ears were temporarily on holiday; sorry, but he didn't want them rotting from the drone.

"The earmuffs!" Emily insistently jabbed her finger in their direction, and James gave a lazy huff, reaching over to toss them at the Hufflepuff, one of twenty with which the Gryffindor's shared the class. And uncle Neville kept up his droning on how to re-pot the ugly plants they were to be working with, and blah-blah-blah…

James kept his eye on the large glass wall which gave a view to the forbidden forest and a slight triangle of Hagrid's Hut. What he wouldn't give to be in that hut, a lovely cup of tea held in his hands, planning some brilliant prank which was likely to lose him twenty house points before falling flat on its face, but being fun all the same. So much more interesting than stroking roots to get them to settle down.

James slumped further down in his seat. He noticed uncle Neville giving him a wary look, and smirked to himself. Well should Neville be wary. James had single-handedly managed to ruin the roast turkey every Christmas since he was three, no matter the precautions taken. The grown-ups had taken to making two turkey's and a half-dozen chickens and roasts to make up for it. It should be expected that at 12 he was a lot more capable than at three.

From his low position, James could see every idiot and their neighbours laces under the table, and leaning just a little lower gave him a perfect vantage of uncle Neville's own laced up sensible's. James smirked to himself, having thought of a rather rotten prank.

Bringing to mind that book he'd read, 'Jolly Good Jinxes and Their Cousins', James recalled two jinxes that would work rather well in this scenario. One was to make hair-based material extend, the other was to meld two ends of said materials together. James then used a spell learnt in first year, a quietly spoken _wingardium leviosa, _to make a pail of manure hover across the ground before coming to a halt behind uncle Neville. He repeated this several times, unseen, situating pails of manure behind almost every Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. He skipped a few to slightly alleviate suspicion from just him, and make it possible that ten other people could have been responsible.

Ready to put his jinxes to use, James extended everyone's – including his own – shoelaces, and made it so that one person was connected by their shoe laces to two other people. Then he sent a carefully aimed tripping jinx at Ambert Huxley, a rather portly fellow in Hufflepuff, who James thought was a little too pompous to be liked. Ambert's tripping sent him headfirst into his pail of manure, pulling down the two he was connected with as well, and setting off a domino effect. James made sure he was ready to drop down, so the landing didn't hurt so much.

"JAMES SIRIUS POTTERRR-ERGH!" uncle Neville's shout was cut off as he made his own way into a manure pile. James was busy rapidly muttering lumos and nox, so that they couldn't trace the many spells back to his wand unless they tried for days. He managed to repeat the two spells over fifty times, before the table where all the patiently waiting plants gave a tremble, and exploded. Well, there goes the prank, falling on its stupid face as it was wont to do. The baby mandrakes set up a wailing as they were evicted from their pots, and James' last thought was, "_well, at least they can't pin this on me." _before he passed out with a nosebleed.

It would be an hour later that the next class due in the Herbology greenhouse trudged down to find the entire 2nd year classes of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff passed out with their shoes interlaced, and Neville Longbottom – with his head half in a pail of manure – likewise passed out. Headmistress McGonagall didn't know what to make of the bizarre situation, except to have the entire lot of them placed up in the hospital wing, and have Neville and James in her office as soon as they were fit to be interrogated.

"Well, Mr Potter?" she spoke sharply, after Neville related what had happened so far as he knew. James gave McGonagall an innocently confused look.

"What is it Aunt McGonagall?" he asked, sending an angry flush into McGonagall's cheeks. She glowered at his insolence, counting to ten slowly in her head before forcing out in a tight voice, "What did you do?"

"ME?" James yelped, looking horrified, "I didn't do nothing! Why would you go blaming ME?" he looked so depressed at the very notion that McGonagall knew that someone who wasn't aware of his home temperament, or his hundred and one other disastrous activities, would probably be contrite and set him free. But McGonagall knew better. She had taught his uncle's, his parents, and his grandparents, and was well aware of the genes that ran through his veins.

"Your wand, Mr Potter." James didn't even blink, just held it out. McGonagall eyed him suspiciously before taking it from him, and waited an experimental few seconds to make sure the thing wouldn't blow up in her face before proceeding to try Priori Incantatum. After five frustrating minutes of getting nothing but pale imitations of _Lumos _and _Nox, _McGonagall gave a frustrated huff and scowled at James, half expecting to see a young George Weasley smirking at her.

"Just what possessed you to require so many illumination spells, Mr Potter? Do you do nothing all day but glow?" James let out a low snicker which was hastily stifled at the warning look in McGonagall's eyes, and he shrugged innocently.

"Two weeks detention, Mr Pott-"

"What for?" James cut her off rudely, and McGonagall breathed in and out deeply, trying to control the urge she had to hex the little brat. She had been in this school for far too long.

"For disrupting Herbology and causing over forty individual's to be laid up in the Hospital Wing-"

"But if you can't prove it was me, and it wasn't me, you know, then how can you be punishing me for something you don't know I did. For all we know, it was you who interrupted Herbology Class, and laid up over forty people in the Hospital Wing. Can you prove _your _innocence? Professor?" James added at the end for extra effect, smirking slightly at the puce-red colour McGonagall was slowly turning.

McGonagall pulled her own wand out in a moment of frustration, and gritted out, "Priori Incatatum." An imitation of the exploding charm Expulso was emitted. Mcgonagall looked in shocked amazement at her wand, horrified.

"Well…" Neville finally spoke up in the awkwardly smug silence (smug on behalf of James).

"W-…Huh?" McGonagall doesn't look up from her wand, and Neville gulped nervously at seeing the normally stoic teacher resort to unintelligible grunts. James smiled slowly, and got up.

"Well, I guess I'd better go professor. I have a charms essay to work on." James watched as McGonagall nodded slowly, practically on the verge of tears. James was careful not to look at the bits of cockroach he'd left on McGonagall's hearth as he leaves the room, feeling quite smug at having stolen McGonagall's wand and used it and _put it back _all under her and Uncle Neville's nose. Looks like this prank didn't quite fall on its face.

The next morning, James is the recipient of a livid howler from his mother, delivered in the middle of breakfast, berating him for his 'completely atrocious and rude actions' towards her former head of house. James, the whole time, smirks at a stony-faced McGonagall. The two of them know who's really won.

**A/N – well, it's 12 hours before I have to wake up for my Biology exam ( T^T) and I'm here writing another piece of fanfiction. Total editing and writing time = 48 minutes (or so Word tells me). Please review, and wish me luck tomorrow! This is my worst subject, I have managed to flunk every exam on it thus far, so I need all the help I can get. After I submit this I'll drown myself in the books, so toodles and hope you enjoyed!**

EDIT – several hours later (lol) because I'm neurotic and found grammar mistakes as well as tense errors. Sorry.


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